


A Home for Christmas

by TheMightyFlynn



Series: New Year's Countdown [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/pseuds/TheMightyFlynn
Summary: Marcus Flint never expected to run into Oliver Wood ever again. He is kind of glad he did, though.





	A Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [New Year's Countdown](http://newyearcntdown.livejournal.com) on livejournal. For the prompt: family at Christmas.

The Christmas holidays had never been something to celebrate in the Flint household. Between Marcus’ mother’s Death Eater ambitions and his father’s drinking habits, he had never really felt the urge to celebrate anything. Staring out the window of the train as it sped towards London at top speed, he couldn’t help sighing.

The world outside was… Well, he really wanted to use the word ‘pretty’. Although, ‘pretty’ wasn’t actually a word that a Flint used, especially a male Flint. The houses and buildings that flashed past his window were coated in a thick layer of soft-looking snow. He knew that down on the streets, it would all be slush and mud and puddles that could engulf his foot up to his ankle. He brushed that knowledge aside, though. His world right at that moment needed some soft, fluffy snow.

Marcus adjusted his tie as he shifted in his seat. He was travelling back to London after attending his father’s funeral. He had been one of only four people in attendance. Ailbeart Flint had been many things in his life and _popular_ was not one of them. His mother, Mairi, had been killed during the Battle of Hogwarts. She had never been important enough to ‘the cause’ to be Marked; had never even made a blip on The Dark Lord’s radar, as far as Marcus knew. But she had fought for the losing side, anyway. Scrubbing at his left forearm through his suit jacket – his formal robes lay in a pile on the seat beside him where he had tossed them – he shuddered at the thought of just how close to a life of exile he had come.

The Flint family – while proud members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight – had never really been wealthy. That was the only way Marcus figured all those ex-Death Eaters could possibly be obtaining any kind of employment, despite the Marks on their arms: influence and bribery.

He had fought alongside his mother. Her influence over him when he’d been younger was such that he had followed her blindly. Mairi had been a Nott before she’d married his father; both respectable pure-blood families and members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Marcus scoffed quietly. A fat load of good that had done her. She’d had a miserable marriage to a drunk twice her age. From what Marcus could tell, the only reason he had even been conceived was because Mairi had slipped Ailbeart an aphrodisiac in one of his many glasses of Firewhisky. He shuddered again and shoved the thoughts as far to the back of his mind as he could manage. No one wanted to be thinking about their parents going at it, after all.

Shrinking his robes to fit into his pocket as the announcement came that they were now pulling into London, he couldn’t help sighing again. He was looking at spending Christmas alone. Again. In a pub. He shook his head.  
 _  
Pathetic_.

But then, he reconsidered, his only other choice would be to spend the night at home alone. So, really, his options came down to which was the more pathetic: sitting in a pub on Christmas Eve and getting pissed, or sitting alone in his dull flat and getting pissed? A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that alcoholism was inherited, but he ignored it. He didn’t spend his workdays drunk, nor did he spend every single cent he earned on alcohol. He wasn’t his father and never would be. Besides, it wouldn’t be Christmas Day if he wasn’t struggling through a killer hangover while listening to the Queen’s message on Radio 4.

His boots clunked as he jumped down from his carriage. Stretching aching muscles, he took a deep breath. London air filled his lungs, full of the smell of car exhaust and millions of bodies pressed into close quarters. As much as he loved going home to Perth, London was the city that really held his heart. The bustle, the noise, the anonymity; it all added up to the perfect combination for him. Here in Muggle London, he wasn’t the fuckup who had followed Voldemort into notoriety. He wasn’t the dumb kid who had had to repeat his seventh year at Hogwarts. He wasn’t even a member of an ancient and proud bloodline. He was just Marcus. Yes, he was big and kind of dumb; he had no problems admitting to that. The thing was, there were so many people in London who fit that description that he wasn’t an anomaly. He was, in fact, quite anonymous. And he liked it that way.

Stepping away from the train, he took two steps before crashing into a warm, solid body. “What the fu–”

“Shit! _Fuck_! Sorry!”

The voice had a Scottish accent. Dundee, Marcus knew, simply from the inflections. It had faded a little, but was still clear. He let out a gusty sigh and tried to step around the man without apologising.

“ _Flint_?”

Marcus froze. Now that he thought about it, that voice _was_ a little familiar. He turned slowly, feeling almost as though he was in some kind of Muggle cartoon.

“Wood.”

Oliver Wood knelt before him, scooping up small, wrapped presents that Marcus had clearly just sent flying. He hadn’t changed much since the end of school. His brown hair still flopped uselessly across his forehead; his equally brown eyes were wide and easily readable. He was clearly surprised to see Marcus there, in the Muggle side of King’s Cross, his expression giving him away. The question occurred to Marcus of exactly what Oliver Wood, of all people, was doing in _that_ particular part of London.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out unthinkingly.

His voice was blunt and gruff, not having been used since he had gotten on the train six hours previously. He scowled for better effect.

“I was just heading off to a friend’s house for Christmas. What are _you_ doing here?”

Wood straightened to meet Marcus’ eyes. There was no kind of malice or resentment there, as Marcus would expect to see from someone whose life he had made difficult when they were teenagers. He shifted his weight uncomfortably when the silence went on for a little too long.

“Goin’ home,” he grunted.

Turning, he tried to make a getaway, but a hand clamped around his bicep. Marcus sighed as he glanced back over his shoulder. Wood stood behind him, his eyes raking down Marcus’ body. There was a strange look on his face, but it was covered quickly when Wood realised that Marcus was watching him.

“What?”

“I – uh…” Wood stammered. He shook his head when Marcus glared at him. “You in a hurry? Maybe we could go grab a beer? Catch up? My shout.”

“A beer.”

“Yes.”

“With you.”

“That is the general idea.”

Marcus glanced back over his shoulder towards the exit. That direction signalled freedom, usually. Right at that point, however, it signalled a lonely night spent with strangers on a day that was supposed to be spent with family and friends. His jaw clenched as he considered the idea. A drink with Oliver Wood. The thought was… awkward, at best. Especially considering it was Christmas Eve. Didn’t Wood have things to do? People to see? He’d said that he was heading off to a friend’s house for Christmas, which would be even more awkward. Marcus shook his head.

“I don’t think so.” He could have sworn he saw disappointment flash across Wood’s face. “Sorry.”

“Nah, no, it’s good. You’ve probably got someone to go home to anyway.”

“No.”

_What. The. Fuck?_ Marcus blinked. He knew he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but really?

“‘No’? So, it’s the company, not the offer?”

Wood grinned at him. Why the _hell_ he had said that, Marcus had no idea. He scrubbed his free hand along the back of his neck; Wood still had hold of the other.

“Sorry.” The word was mumbled to his feet. “I, um…”

The truth of it was that he was unused to interacting with wizards anymore. He’d been living in Muggle London for so long that he had just gotten used to the way they did things. He hid his magic, he never discussed his family or old friends, and people knew not to ask. Life was simpler that way. But now it had all been dragged back to him with one simple accident. He had literally run into Oliver Wood and now his whole day was in disarray.

“It’s just a beer.”

Marcus frowned at him again. He knew he didn’t have the brains to work out what kind of motive Wood could have for pressing this, but he stared into his eyes for a good long while in the attempt.

“It’s not like I’m proposing or anything.”

Marcus scoffed. “The _Prophet_ would have a fucking field day.”

Wood’s responding grin made Marcus want to run. Nothing good ever came from the swirling feeling that that smile gave him in his gut. Twisting his arm, he broke Wood’s grip on him.

“Gotta go.”

He heard a sigh behind him before Wood spoke again.

“Are you afraid of me, Flint?”

Marcus paused. He stared down at the tops of his boots poking out from beneath his suit. His hands clenched into fists. He sucked his prominent front teeth, a bad habit he’d picked up in his re-done seventh year.

“No.”

“What, then?” Wood waited until Marcus had turned to face him before continuing. “You claim to not be afraid of me, but you won’t have a drink with me.”

“Maybe I just don’t like you.”

Wood grinned, causing Marcus to frown at him again. “Maybe you don’t. Why would you let that stop you from scoring a free beer, though?”

Something in the back of Marcus’ mind questioned just why he was turning Wood down. It really was only a beer. He had been planning on spending the night drinking anyway, so why not start the night with a free one? Wood’s grin widened when Marcus sighed. It sent alarm bells blaring in his mind; alarms that he had the full intention of obeying. He would take the free beer first, though. He glanced down at his watch, although why, he had no idea.

“Alright. One beer.” He rolled his eyes when Wood straightened up to his full height and slapped him on the back. “Where did you have in mind?”

“C’mon. I know a place a little way from here.”

They walked in silence through the station and out into Muggle London. It only took about ten minutes to reach the small pub Wood was leading him to, but Marcus was getting fidgety by the time they reached it. He stared up at the brick façade, taking in the fact that the place had no tables outside, and no flashy neon signs. He glanced over to Wood with a raised eyebrow. Wood merely shrugged and gave him another grin.

“I figured you weren’t the café type.”

Well. At least he was right about that, Marcus figured.

Wood led the way inside the dingy-looking pub. Marcus blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The bar stood to his right, and several booths ran down towards the back. An old tv above the bar blared a repeat of the footy, visible from every seat. Arsenal were up 2-0. In the time it took Marcus to take all of this in, Wood had moved towards the bar and claimed two stools on the corner. Marcus followed, feeling completely out-of-place in his suit.

“How d’you know this place?”

Wood shrugged again. “Got shitfaced one night after a losing a big game. Ended up on my arse in the gutter outside. Once I woke up, I discovered that they also make a brilliant hangover breakfast here.”

Unable to help it, Marcus smiled. The image of a drunken Wood entered his mind unbidden, stumbling and slurring. He huffed out a breath through his nose.

“You find that funny?”

Leaning on the sticky bar in front of him, Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I do. You’d probably be a chatty drunk.”

Wood grinned. “Well, I couldn’t tell you whether that’s right or not; I talk no matter the situation.”

“I remember.”

“Oh, do you now?” Wood continued to grin at him while giving the barmaid a signal that clearly meant something to her. “Think about me often, then?”

“Oh, yeah,” Marcus responded immediately, sarcasm dripping from each word. “All the time. I couldn’t get you out of my head in school, but now... It wasn’t clear by how hard I tried to escape when I realised it was you I’d run into?”

The barmaid placed a glass in front of each of them just as Wood let out a roar of laughter. Leaning back in the barstool, Wood’s arms wrapped around his middle.

“Oh, man… Yeah, I deserved that… Good to know you can still deliver a verbal spanking when it’s needed.”

Reaching forward, Wood grabbed his glass before Marcus could react to what he had said. Raising it, he grinned again.

“To…” He tilted his head to the side and half-raised an eyebrow. “New friendships?”

Marcus raised his glass in response. “You’re kidding yourself, but sure. New friendships.”

He considered downing the entire glass in one breath and leaving. Something held him back, however. Whether it was the taste of the Guinness, or the fact that he was discovering that he really couldn’t find anything to object to about Wood, he had no idea, but Marcus only took a couple of swallows before placing the glass back down before him.

“Good?”

“Mmm, yeah. I don’t drink Guinness that often, but this is good.”

“Not a Guinness man? Surprising.”

Marcus chuckled. “I actually prefer the Australian beers.”

“No! Come on…”

“Seriously. They’re strong, they taste like shit, and they’re kind of cheap.”

“Traitor.”

It was then that Marcus recalled hearing something on the radio back home about the Scottish National Quidditch team going up against the Australians either soon or recently. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to the Quidditch since he had been living in Muggle London. There was no call for him to remember the scores or the teams if he was the only one who knew what he was talking about.

“You’re on the national team, aren’t you?”

Wood leant forward, a gleam in his eyes that sent the alarm bells ringing in Marcus’ head again. He pointed a finger at him and grinned.

“Traitor.”

Marcus cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a yes. Still playing Keeper?”

“Of course.” The tone to Wood’s voice told him that that had been a stupid question. “I made Captain last year, so–”

“Wait, they made _you_ Captain of the _national side_?”

Wood straightened, insult crossing his face. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Besides the fact that you’ll probably train the rest of the team into the ground?” Wood’s ‘practice sessions’ had been legendary back in Hogwarts. “Do they know you’re insane, or have you managed to hide it?”

Marcus watched with amusement as first confusion, then realisation crossed Wood’s face. It was clear that Wood had not been expecting Marcus to respond to him the way he was, and that it had wrong-footed him somewhat. If he was to be honest, it surprised Marcus as well. He and Wood had never been friends, not even back in school. Why it was so easy to just tease the living hell out of him now, then, he had no idea. He refocussed when Wood seemed to get control over his reactions again.

“Coming from the person who allowed his entire team to be bribed by the promise of new brooms just so one snot-nosed little shit could play Seeker, I take that as a compliment.”

Marcus shook his head. ‘Snot-nosed little shit’ really did describe Draco Malfoy very well. But, that particular part of their shared history was not something Marcus wished to dwell on. Shifting in his seat, he took another swig of his drink.

“So, what about the rest of it?”

“What rest of it?”

Marcus shot Wood a _look_. “You know there’s life outside of Quidditch, right? There’s a whole world out there, just waiting for you to discover it.”

Wood sighed. “Alright, alright. Who – or what – do you want to know about?”

Marcus took a few seconds to consider the question. There really was only one person he had any right to ask about, though.

“Theo. Theo Nott. He’s a cousin of mine, through my mother. We lost contact after the war.”

Wood frowned. “Nott… You don’t mean that Unspeakable, do you?”

Letting out a low whistle, Marcus shook his head. “Good, good. Nice to know that someone in the family got my Ma’s brains.” He smiled when Wood shot him a questioning look. “I got her looks and my Da’s smarts – or lack of, really. Not a good combination by anyone’s standards.”

There was a fleeting moment as Wood looked at him when Marcus could have sworn that there was something there. When he tried to catch Wood’s eye, however, Wood returned his gaze to his glass.

“So, how long have you been in London?”

It was such an abrupt subject change that Marcus took a few seconds to catch up. Frowning, he shook his head, wondering why Wood wanted to know.

“Since the end of the war.”

“So, just like that? The war ends, the Ministry does whatever it was they did, and you bugger off to London?”

There was no accusation to Wood’s voice, but Marcus stiffened anyway. “It’s not like I had such amazing prospects back home.”

“Sorry, sorry…” Wood raised his hands and dropped his gaze to the bar. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just… You can just give everything up like that? I mean, you know, _everything_?”

Marcus did know what he meant. But, he had discovered, mostly giving up his magic hadn’t been that difficult. Pressing his lips together, he nodded, despite knowing that Wood couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, I can. I did. Look, the M–” He cut himself off so he could glance around to make sure no one else was within earshot. Lowering his voice, he continued. “The Muggles don’t ask questions. They don’t look at me like I tried to murder them and their families. They don’t judge me because I’m nearly a fucking Squib. They actually appreciate me for what I _can_ do.”

Wood glanced up, staring at him through lowered eyelashes. “What is it you do?”

“Construction.” When Wood continued to watch him, he shrugged. “I can lift and carry heavy things. And now I get paid to do it. Paid really well, in fact. More than I would be if I’d tried to get a job back home.”

He had to figure Wood understood that when he said ‘back home’, what he really meant was the wizarding world in general. There really was nowhere else he could mean. Uncomfortable in the warmth of the bar, he shifted in his seat, removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. When he resettled, Wood was watching him with that same look in his eyes again.

“What?”

Wood blinked. “Nothing.” He twitched his fingers at the barmaid, who immediately grabbed two more cans and made her way towards them. “Top up?”

Marcus shrugged. “Sure.”

He watched the barmaid giving Wood the eye as she poured the cans into their glasses. Wood seemed to either be uninterested or just completely oblivious, however, as he kept his attention on Marcus.

“Maybe we should change the subject.”

Marcus let out a huff of amusement. Taking a deep drink, he clunked the glass down on the bar.

“What about you, then? There has to be something other than Quidditch going on.”

“Well, I, uh…” Wood actually managed to look ashamed before he grabbed his glass and gulped down a huge swallow of beer. “Not really, actually. I’m heading off to a friend’s place for Christmas, but beyond that, I pretty much am just focussed on work.”

Something in the back of Marcus’ mind translated that as _SINGLE!_ He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to prevent making a complete fool of himself.

“Really? Just Quidditch and this friend.”

Wood shrugged. “Work keeps me on my toes. And, well, this friend… It’s really his parents’ place I’m going to for Christmas. All his family have a big gettogether every holiday and there’s pretty much a standing invitation. Since I don’t have anywhere else to be, I always go there.”

“No family?”

“Nope. I only had my Grandmother and she died years ago. You?”

Huffing out a breath through his nose, Marcus hooked a finger through his tie and held it out. “Da’s funeral was today.”

Wood snorted his drink. “Wha– Why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have…” Leaning back in his seat, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have pushed you to come here if I’d known.”

Marcus shrugged. “No matter. We weren’t close. I went out of respect, but besides that, there was nothing left for me there.”

“You were getting off the train from Perth,” Wood stated with realisation in his voice. “I was wondering why you were in the Mu…” He lowered his voice as the barmaid walked behind them. “Why you were on that side of the station.”

Marcus leant back in his seat, stretching still somewhat stiff muscles. “Six goddamned hours on that train and the very first thing that happens to me when I finally get back here is I run into you.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad, am I?”

Wood’s smile sent the exact same swirling sensation through Marcus’ stomach as it had back in the station. Ducking his head, he downed the rest of his beer.

“I–”

“Wood!”

Marcus closed his mouth with a snap. Turning, he caught a glimpse of three redheads entering the bar, all with identical smiles directed at Wood. He looked back at Wood just in time to see his eyes widening in what appeared to be surprise.

“What’re you lot doing here?”

“Could ask you the same question, mate.”

“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be coming to Mum’s tonight?”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably as the three men moved past him to greet Wood. There was a lot of back-slapping and insults flung around by two of the men, but the third held back. When the first two let go of Wood, this third held his hand out.

“Ollie.”

“Hey, Perce.” Wood pulled him into a hug as well, although a lot gentler than with the other two. “How are you?”

“Good, good…”

Marcus watched as they interacted for a few more seconds before deciding to just leave. This was obviously the group of friends that Wood had been speaking of, so there was no reason for him to intrude. Standing, he collected his jacket and made his way through the dingy pub. He almost made it to the door when a hand stopped him.

“Marcus Flint.”

He only just prevented a sigh. “Yeah?” Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was the shortest of the three men who had grabbed him. “Do I know you?”

The man shrugged. “Probably not. No reason you should. I remember you, though.” Tension rode across Marcus’ shoulders at those words, but he wasn’t allowed to act on it. “You had the _meanest_ fucking shoulder tackle I have ever received on the field! I swear I thought I’d been hit by a fucking Bludger that first time you caught me.”

Marcus frowned, trying to place him. He glanced back to the other two standing with Wood before it finally clicked. The red hair should have given it away, but Marcus had tried so hard to forget everything about school that he had apparently blocked it out. He offered up a small smile.

“Which Weasley are you, then?”

The man grinned. “Charlie. I was a few years ahead of you in school. You’re not leaving?”

Marcus glanced back to where Wood was talking with the other two – the quieter one _had_ to be Percy – before nodding his head. “Yeah, I figured I’d better. Wood said he was going to a friend’s place for Christmas and you lot must be those friends, so…”

Charlie snorted. “Fuck that. Come talk Quidditch.”

With that, he turned and marched back to where the others still stood. Marcus watched as they all moved to the very back of the pub and claimed one of the booths. He could leave. Hell, he probably _should_ leave. His fingers twitched as indecision washed through him. He didn’t want to intrude. Wood clearly knew these Weasley brothers very well and feeling like a third wheel was not one of Marcus’ favourite things. The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when he saw Wood slip out of the booth again and walk briskly towards him.

“Come on.” Wood grabbed his wrist and began to walk back towards the booth. “Bill wants to meet you.”

Marcus tried to object, but Wood hushed him. He found himself dragged to the back of the pub, where he was greeted by Charlie – who had grabbed a spare chair and was now straddling it at the side of the booth – like they were old friends. Confusion building in him, Marcus slid into the booth before Wood.

“So, I hear you took Charlie here down a peg or two when you were just a second year?”

Marcus shrugged, the uncomfortableness of his situation growing as he found himself the centre of attention. “Shouldn’t’ve got in my way.”

This caused a burst of laughter from Wood, Charlie, and Bill. Marcus watched as Bill slapped Charlie on the back.

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t deserve it back then.”

It was strange, watching these brothers interact. Marcus had never had anything even close to this kind of relationship. They included Wood in with their banter, treating him the exact same as they treated each other: teasing, insulting, and then defending him against the others in turn. Marcus stayed quiet, just watching.

“You’re living in Muggle London?”

The voice was quiet, almost quiet enough that Marcus didn’t realise it was addressing him at first. When Percy shifted across from him, though, he focussed.

“Huh?”

“Muggle London,” Percy repeated. “Oliver said that’s where you’re living now.”

“Oh. Yeah, I am. Got a job just after the Ministry was done with me and never looked back, really.”

Percy nodded, his hands wrapped around whatever it was he had ordered. “That makes sense. It would let you get away from everything that happened, I suppose. I met my wife at the London Library just after the war ended. In St. James’s Square,” he added when Marcus didn’t respond.

“You married?”

“I did. You’ll meet her tonight. I only came along because I thought I would know better than my brothers where Oliver was likely to wind up in London.”

Marcus blinked. “Wait. What do you mean I’ll meet her tonight? Is she coming here?”

Surprise crossed Percy’s face, but it was covered quickly. “Oh, sorry. I figured you were coming with us. To my parents’ house.” Percy shifted when Marcus only stared at him. “With Oliver?”

Automatically glancing to his right, he watched Wood laughing and joking with Bill and Charlie. “I’m not – _We’re_ not… Ah…”

“Oh, my apologies, then. Honest mistake. You’re his type, is all. I assumed when we found the two of you together that Oliver had finally decided to bring a date, as Mother has been telling him to for years now.” Percy paused, eyeing Marcus with what could only be called amusement. “You’d be welcome either way, you know. My parents have always told each of us that we can bring a date if we wish. Or even just a friend. That is how Oliver came to show up each year.”

“You brought him with you?”

The memory of Wood telling him that he had only ever had his Grandmother flashed through Marcus’ mind. It looked as though Wood had taken the Weasleys as an adoptive family, if what he was hearing was correct.

“Indeed. After his Grandmother died, he came with me every year. Eventually, he just started coming on his own. My parents just treat him as another member of the family. With seven children starting to produce offspring of their own, I don’t think another body would be a problem.”

Marcus nodded, running the idea through his mind. It was a very odd feeling, sitting amongst these people who clearly knew each other so well. Having spent the years since the war trying to avoid human contact, Marcus had never had a friendship anything like what he was witnessing here. It took a few minutes for the other thing Percy had let slip to sink into Marcus’ mind.

_You’re his type, is all_.

His hands clenched around the mug of… Well, honestly, he didn’t even know what it was they had ordered for him. Glancing over to where Wood sat beside him, he took the time to really study him. He had shed the thick winter coat he had been wearing when Marcus had run into him, revealing a simple flannelette shirt and a pair of jeans. That same swirling sensation flittered through his stomach again as he ran his eyes over Wood’s broad shoulders and down his back.

_You’re his type…_

“…even if it’s just for tonight.”

“Ah, Marcus?”

Marcus blinked. Glancing up, he realised that all eyes were on him. He could feel his cheeks heating as he ducked his head.

“What?”

“You’re coming with us, right? Back to Mum and Dad’s?”

He was pretty sure it was Charlie who spoke, judging from the direction of the voice. There was no mockery to Charlie’s voice, but Marcus’ defences rose anyway.

“No.”

He raised his head when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Both Bill and Charlie had risen from their seats, and Percy was in the process of leaving as well. Wood sat still beside him, however.

“I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Marcus received a confused look from Charlie and what appeared to be sympathy from Percy before all three of them left. He returned his attention to his drink when Wood still didn’t move.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Wood shifted beside him. “It’d be nice if you came with us, though.”

Marcus sighed. “I said one drink.”

“I know.” Wood shrugged. “But, by my count, that’s your third.”

Marcus let out a sigh before turning in the seat to meet Wood’s eyes. “Why?”

“We were having a good time, right? Despite my big mouth and your _horrible_ taste in beer.” He shrugged again, this time with a grin. “Besides, you said yourself that you had no one to go home to. So, why not spend the night with us? You don’t have to stay the entire night. Just long enough to warm up and maybe have a few laughs. Or play a game of Quidditch.”

An ache rose in Marcus’ chest at the idea. It was tempting; possibly too tempting. He liked his life how it was. Sure, he didn’t have connections like those he had seen tonight, but… _But what, exactly?_ something in the back of his mind asked. He knew there was no answer.

“There’ll be food.”

Unable to help it, Marcus smiled. “You think I can be bribed with food?”

“Well, it’s not a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, but…”

“Oh, come on!”

“Well, it worked once before, so…”

The grin Wood shot him had Marcus shaking his head. Shifting in his seat, he knew he had already made his decision.

“I’m not sixteen anymore, you know.”

Shock rushed through him when Wood’s eyes darkened. It left a strange tingle behind it, the hair on his arms standing up.

“I know.”

Marcus ducked his head again as his insides did a little dance. He knew that he would have to face up to whatever it was that Wood was making him feel, but figured that if this was only one night, then he could ignore it. He downed the rest of his drink – it was fruity and red, something he never would have picked for himself – before nodding.

“Alright, then.”

The trip to the Weasley family home was… entertaining, to say the least. Bill and Charlie were _loud_ , bouncing and yelling to each other, despite being only a few steps apart. Wood joined in occasionally, laughing and teasing just the same as they had back in the bar. Percy, however, dropped back to fall into step with Marcus.

“I’m pleased that you changed your mind.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Percy nodded. “Oliver’s happy. That is a big point in your favour.”

Unable to help it, Marcus glanced over at him, a frown creasing his brow. “You _do_ remember me from school, right? If Wood’s happy, then it’s got nothing to do with me.”

He was left confused again as Percy just shrugged, an annoyingly knowing look on his face. By that time, they had reached the Apparition point, so he didn’t get to question it.

“Ollie, you can side-along, right?”

“Course I can.”

Before he realised what was happening, Wood had grabbed Marcus’ hand. A sickening twisting sensation filled him, his breath was squeezed out, and the world turned a disgusting swirl of colour. Marcus collapsed to his knees when they landed.

“ _Fuck me_.” He carefully shook his head, trying to clear it as nausea rose in him. “Could’a warned me.”

Snow crunched beneath a pair of boots that entered Marcus’ vision a few seconds later. “Sorry about that.”

Well, Marcus figured, at least Wood sounded sheepish. Accepting the hand that was held out to him, he found himself hauled to his feet. Wood slapped him on the back, grinning.

“Been a while since you’ve Apparated, huh?”

“No use for it in London,” he grunted.

The truth was, he hadn’t bothered to Apparate since he had gotten his license back in school. The tube and trains were enough for him. They started up a path, following the Weasleys. Marcus stopped dead when they rounded a corner and he got his first look at the Weasley family home. At least four stories and unbelievably crooked, it was clearly held up purely by the magic that surrounded it. He shook his head as he stared, trying to work out just what the original structure had been.

“Not your type of construction, huh?”

Wood was grinning at him again. Marcus shook his head.

“This violates so many codes it isn’t even funny.”

Warmth spread through to his fingertips when Wood laughed. Ducking his head, he followed along behind as the three Weasley brothers and Wood entered the rickety-looking house. The scent of some kind of Christmas cookie being baked hit his senses just before he stepped through the front door, causing him to take an automatic deep breath. It was then that he was hit by what he could only describe as a wall of sound. He automatically took a step backwards as he glanced around the room.

Christmas decorations – some store-bought, but most homemade – covered the wooden walls. Fairy lights were strung over the mantlepiece of the fireplace, which stood across the room from where Marcus stood in the doorway. An absolutely enormous tree stood in the corner of the room where Marcus would have placed his telly, if this room had been in his Muggle block of flats. A mismatched set of lounges and seats filled the rest of the room, each place occupied by either a human, or a pet. It was light and bright and everything that Marcus had never had. His hands clenched by his sides as the sound level rose when the rest of the people filling the house realised that the missing brothers and Wood had arrived.

“Oliver! It is _so_ good to see you again!” A short, round woman rushed forward, wrapping Wood in a hug that smothered him in shawls. “You never come around enough.”

“I know, I know, Molly. I’m sorry. With work and… well…” Wood shrugged and shot her a grin. “I’m here now, that counts, right?”

“Of course it does, dear,” she informed him with a warm smile, before turning towards Marcus. “And who is this?”

Marcus let out a breath as she stepped forward. His eyes flicked over to Wood, who seemed to take this as a hint. He placed a hand on this Molly’s arm, halting her before she could treat Marcus to the same kind of greeting.

“This is Marcus, Molly. He’s… He’s a friend of mine from school. We ran into each other – literally – in the train station and I figured you wouldn’t mind if I dragged him along?”

There was a warmth to Wood’s low voice that caused Marcus to send him a confused look. Wood seemed to shrug it off, though, when Molly stepped forward and offered Marcus her hand.

“Any friend of Oliver’s is always welcome here, of course.” She smiled widely when Marcus accepted her hand. “How about I introduce you to my husband, Arthur, dear? You look a little overwhelmed with everyone in here.”

Before he could object, Marcus found himself being directed by a warm hand placed in the small of his back. Molly had hold of his hand still, making it impossible for him to make an escape without knocking her over. She prattled away about how nice it was that Oliver had finally brought someone with him as she guided him through the house and into a small garage just outside. A tall, thin man with hair that was now much whiter than red stood in the middle of what appeared to be a pile of broken Muggle things. Marcus frowned.

“Arthur, dear?” The man turned their way, a look of polite confusion crossing his face. “This is Marcus. He’s a friend of Oliver’s.”

Arthur offered up a vague smile as Molly gave Marcus a gentle push into the garage. When she left, he returned to staring at the mess around him.

“Do you know anything about Muggle technology, Marcus?”

Marcus frowned again as confusion washed through him. “Well, I work construction in London, so…”

This seemed to be the perfect answer. Arthur spun towards him immediately, his eyes now shining with interest.

“Construction, you say? With the big cranes and – and the bulldozers?”

Stepping over the pile of rubbish, Arthur grabbed Marcus’ arm and guided him over to a bench. He cleared it off with a swipe of his hand, Banishing several items to one of the over-full worktables scattered through the mess. Sitting down, Arthur proceeded to interrogate Marcus, asking about various methods of construction, and the tools used. Marcus had no idea how long he sat there, just explaining some of the basics of his job and what Arthur could do to add yet another extension to the house, but his back was beginning to ache by the time the door opened and Charlie and Bill entered the garage.

“There you are! We wondered where Mum’d stashed you!”

“Boys!” Arthur exclaimed, looking up at them with what Marcus could only describe as joy in his eyes. “Did you know that Marcus here works in construction? He helps _build_ things, like Muggle buildings. Terribly fascinating subject. We’ve been discussing what we could do to extend the house.”

Bill grinned. “Last time you tried that, Dad, it fell on the old chicken coop.”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur waved a hand through the air as though to brush that past mistake behind him. “But Marcus says that there’s a chance that he could show me just what to do and _where_.”

Charlie shook his head, smiling. “We’ll make sure to not tell Mum.”

“Ah, yes... Thank you, boys. Was there something you wanted?”

“We were actually going to steal young Marcus here for a game of Quidditch,” Charlie responded with a grin. “Apparently I need taking down another notch or two.”

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll just be here if you need anything.”

Marcus found himself being guided yet again, this time out of the garage and towards where a group of people stood at the edge of what looked to be a snow-covered orchard. Wood stood right at the very edge of the group, craning his neck so towards where Marcus walked with Bill and Charlie. The wide smile he offered when he finally spotted them sent another jolt of warmth through Marcus’ stomach.

“About time! I thought you’d run off again!”

Marcus shrugged as he glanced around. “No chance. I’ve been talking construction with Arthur.”

He fell into step with Wood as the group began to move off into the orchard. Marcus counted at least fifteen redheads amongst them, with the occasional spot of black, or bushy brown, or white-blonde to break it all up. There were a couple of familiar faces in there, but they all let him be. He was grateful for it as well, as the entire mass of Weasleys all together was slightly overwhelming. He took a deep breath as they all began disappearing into what looked to be a group of trees that he assumed had to hide the Quidditch field. A hand on his arm stopped him from following them. Turning, he met Wood’s eyes.

“I wanted to thank you. And apologise.” Wood smiled at him and his stomach swirled. “I know I kind of fucked your Christmas Eve plans up with all of this, and I want you to know that I am sorry. I honestly didn’t plan on having you dragged all the way out here with a bunch of people you don’t know.”

“Wood–”

“Oliver.”

Marcus frowned. “Oliver. Alright.” Breaking eye contact, he tried to remember what he had been about to say. “I–”

He was cut off with a gasp as a hand landed on the back of his neck, drawing him into a soft kiss. Wood – Oliver – was warm and smelled deliciously of cinnamon. He pressed their lips together, but no more than that.

“Sorry,” he muttered when they broke apart. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you ran me over in the train station.”

Marcus’ skin tingled, sending a shiver down his spine. He let out a breath. When Wood tried to step back, he grabbed his arm. Wood shot him a look that was at least partially hopeful just before Marcus dragged him forward into another kiss.

This one was a little more insistent, with Marcus wrapping his free arm around Wood’s waist. Wood chuckled into the kiss as he pressed close.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

With warmth spreading through his entire body, Marcus smiled. He followed Wood through the entrance to the Quidditch field, the swirling sensation in his stomach seeming to echo the sentiment.


End file.
